


please don't forget

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: She had always drawn from memory, but she couldn't do that if she didn't have the memory to begin with.





	please don't forget

**Author's Note:**

> i have changed my user from bellamysfreckles to pragmatic in case u were confused

She had always drawn from memory. Gone to walk around the ark, taking metal photographs to take home and sketch. Pour over books in the library, memorize the photos and keep them hidden away in her mind for later.

But she couldn't draw from memory if she didn't have the memory to begin with.

She noticed it slowly, how he was fading away. The constellation of freckles underneath his left eye that looked like Africa when he smiled—or had it been his right eye? Were his eyes a more light shade of brown like his skin? Or had they been more like chocolate; dark and creamy. And that damned scar on his lip that she so often found herself staring at, wondering what had caused it—which side had it been on?

Her hands were shaking by the time she found something that resembled parchment and a pencil, but she still sketched.

She sketched until her pulse slowed, until the tightness of her throat loosened enough that breathing wasn't so difficult. Until a master piece lay before her.

She'd drawn him as she wanted to remember him. Hands on his hips, a gun casually slung over his shoulder as if it were his most prized companion, head slightly dipped in a smile, dimples blazing.

She wanted to believe that they'd all made it—that _he'd_ made it—but doubt crept into her heart in the dark hours of the night when she was her most vulnerable. What if the last words she'd spoken to him had been a diversion? A small insignificant phrase that didn't even begin to cover all that she wanted to say to him, all that she felt. She'd wanted to tell him that she—how she felt about him. She loved him more than a friend, more than a co-leader, more than _anything_.

But she knew it would be selfish, to tell him that after she had gone on and on about how he needed to use his head if they were to survive. She knew if she told him how she truly saw him; he'd never leave her side again, and neither one of them would be able to do what they needed to do.

So she'd kept her mouth shut, and even though the realistic part of her regretted it—that the last thing she may have ever said to him was an order, and not a confession—the hopeful part believed that she would see him again, when the world was better, and they didn't have to save it continuously.

These thoughts were what occupied her mind as she sketched, this time of him sleeping, limbs falling off the bed at half hazardous angles.

It had been 2198 days since the world ended, and she was still subtly panicked that one day he would disappear completely from her memory, but until then, she would not give up hope.

\---

The prisoners were surprisingly mannerly, obeying her wishes of peace with next to no complaints. She wished the grounders had been this compliant when _she_ dropped out of the sky.

(Bellamy's words echoed in her mind, and she supposed there were no such thing as grounders or sky people anymore. They were all grounders, now.)

Still, dealing with the prisoners was exhausting, and since she hadn't radioed Bellamy yet that day, she trekked out to her usual spot to do just that.

"Hey, Bellamy." She sighed, and filled him in on anything that had happened since yesterday. Small, fruitless things, but if he was indeed listening, he was going to hear every last detail.

"Is that your new purpose in life, princess? Boring me to death?"

She whipped her head around so fast that she fell off the log she had been perched on, and landed ass first in the wet mud beside it.

The voice hadn't come from the radio, it had come from behind her.

He hadn't changed. And now that she was seeing him, she can't believe she ever forgot. The way his hair tousled in the wind, as if it were planned. The africa constellation indeed settled underneath his left eye. And his eyes—she couldn't get past the relief, the love in them—directed at _her_ —to notice what shade of brown they were.

Slowly, she put her feet beneath her, and stood. Slowly, she made her way over to him, keenly aware that the five others were waiting not far off, but still waiting, as if this moment was only for the two of them.

Something logical in the back of her mind reminded her that perhaps he had put his feelings—however deep they went—for her to rest as she placed her hands on either side of his face. She couldn't find it in herself to care.

Especially when he haltingly laid his palms on her waist, as if touching her too heavily would cause her to disappear.

For moments, or what could have been hours, she stared. Drinking everything in. The dimples that were now shining, the laugh lines that had gotten considerably deeper than she last remembered, the angle of his jaw, the vastness of his shoulders and chest. How could she have _forgotten_ —it was a distant thought, but one that would certainly need to be addressed later.

"What, may I ask," Bellamy said, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Are you staring so intently at?"

She let her own smile show as she grazed a thumb over his scar, noting his slight shiver at her touch. "I couldn't remember... what side it was on." She heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Now I'm going to have to redo all my drawings."

He laughed, outright and bright, and he leaned down. He paused, as if she would even think about stopping him. She met him the rest of the way, pushing her hands into his hair as they kissed.

It ignited something low and feral in her belly—yet another thing that would be addressed later—something she hadn't felt in a long time. But while the kiss nearly set her on fire, it also soothed her, calmed her. His thumbs rubbed idle circles on her hips, and she stepped closer into his warmth.

"Eh-hem." Someone coughed.

But they didn't jump apart as they once would have, instead, they slid their annoyed expressions to Raven, who was trying not to grin. "Stop hogging, Blake. There are other people who haven't seen her in years, too."

He stuck his tongue out at her, as Raven wrapped Clarke in a bone crushing hug. "He might have been the only person who missed you more than I did."

Bellamy, tired of being on the sidelines for more than a few moments, slipped his arms around them both, sagging his weight against them with a content sigh.

Clarke didn't object as happy tears sprung to her eyes.

She pressed her face farther into Ravens neck. "I missed both of you more that you could have possibly missed me."

They both objected whole heartedly, but didn't loosen their grip on her in the slightest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> for mali <3


End file.
